


Prologue

by voltronexe



Series: Fate Has A Funny Way of Showing It [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action, Blood, M/M, Violence, am i the only one who wanted these power rangers to be in a secret organization???, klance, miraculous ladybug-esque fic that i've been dying for, smutless, superhero au, this'll be the start of something amazing i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 12:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7757233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voltronexe/pseuds/voltronexe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Thank you,” he was spoken to once more, and Lance turned to see his guest already half-way out the door, not looking at him. “If we meet again, I’ll be sure to repay you better than my quiet company.”</p><p>The door snapped shut, and Lance felt the shrieking in his head, the never ending questions and comments slamming themselves into his brain as he tried to find the words to explain that night. Nothing came to him. He pushed the boy, and the meeting, to the back of his skull.</p><p>[Or, alternatively, the part where all the shit starts unfolding and we see the beginning of something magnificent.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS THE SUPERHERO AU I'VE BEEN WANTING AND I'M FINALLY DOING IT yes this is short for a reason i promise this is a part of a series containing 3 things and this + one more drabble collection is literally just backstory to make the rest of it make sense OK END VENT -- Daki

It was as if the Red Hero was dying right in his arms.

But it wasn’t entirely unexpected; he had taken quite a blow from the Black Paladin, the arch-nemesis that had the faintly familiar air to him as if he should know who he was, but just… couldn’t. What made him the most uncomfortable about the identity of the man was that he shared the same surname as the two partners, which forced him to assume he was associated with the Voltron Organization. Whoever he was, he was more powerful than either of them combined. And it was beginning to take a toll on him.

But he needed to get his mind off of that. With another swipe through the air, Lance quickly dodged the arm and shot clumsily with his rifle in order to blast him off enough, then picked the Red Paladin back into his grasp and began to run. He needed to get him out of here, and he needed to do it now.

He shut his eyes, and let his emotions take over.

He felt his surroundings halt. The wind behind his ears as he moved ceased to make his hair blow back, the bird that had been in mid-chirp silenced and the advancement of his adversary discontinue, the thumping of his sneakers being the only sound, with the gentle whining of his companion. 

He was starting to wake up, which was good. He wasn’t dead yet. He wished he could be the one to patch him up, but that was dangerous. He had to play coy. 

After he was a good mile away, he allowed time to continue, watching as the rain drizzled back down and popped into puddles, sending ripples throughout galaxies of dirt particles and only being disturbed as his shoes hit it and splashed up, soaking his jean legs. He hadn’t worn his suit. Hadn’t expected him to be out so late.

He jogged the last half mile to his home, making soft, “okay, okay, okay,”s as he set the hero down and pulled his arm over his shoulders, unlocking the door and leading him into the foyer. His small apartment held only a couch, television, and the bed with a dresser inside of his bedroom. But their destination was the bathroom, where he laid him straight down into the tub.

At some point, Red had fallen asleep again, and so he felt like it would be safe for him to remove the armor on his chest, but not dare touch his bandana. He wasn’t prepared to learn about who the boy was. He was not prepared for him to wake and see who was rescuing him, if fate had it and they knew each other.

The black bandanna that laid across his mouth and nose (to mask who he was) was raising with the heat of his breath, and he was hesitant to tear open the shirt that just barely covered his cuts. But they needed to be treated, so with nimble fingers, he pulled apart the fabric of the poorly constructed costume, reaching for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide he kept under the sink and immediately pouring a substantial amount into his wound. The deep laceration bubbled, the runoff pink, and he had to keep a calm composure and just imagine it was his own.

Working as a superhero, he saw this a lot.

But from the look of his costume, the sloppy way he had been fighting with fire and smoke, and the way that his name was odd and not entirely suited to his own, he could deduct that this was not someone affiliated with the V.O. All the more reason to keep his identity a secret.

Which was silly, seeing as how nobody in the V.O allowed anybody to know who they were unless they were suited up. They would never know if they knew each other outside of fighting crime. That was just the way it worked. Secrecy was something to hold dear to you when you were fighting every single being in the entire universe. Keeping yourself and your family safe was a number one priority.

He suddenly got an idea.

Even though he looked like he was out cold, all he had to do was tell him he saw him lying in the middle of the street if he saw him and began to fret. Because it wasn’t entirely a lie; he really had walked into that battle. 

But why did the Black Paladin attack an innocent?

Typically that wasn’t something that they did. They would always go after people who had done wrong, which really irked him. Something wasn’t right and he needed to tell Alfor immediately.

Just -- not with him in the house. 

As he was lost in his thoughts, the boy beneath him began to stir, surely from the feeling of the liquid entering his system. He quickly dodged an instinctual blow to his face, gripping his wrist and placing it back down to his head, offering a kind smile. “Hey, you’re alright. I’m not hurting you. Just cleaning you up.”

He was panicking, but he didn’t allow it to show in his handiwork. He moved on to push a damp cloth to his bloodied torso, wiping off the excess before laying a long, surgical pad across it and pulled him up enough to sit. Unwrapping the Ace bandage, he began to pull it around him, feeling the ever-burning gaze of the other in his cheek and grinding his teeth. Of course he was frightened. He would be, too, if he was stranded in some stranger’s bathtub and letting them manhandle him like he was.

“Uhm, thanks,” he heard, a breathy tone as he finished his work, the other hesitantly sliding his goggles off and abandoning his bandana, showing off a brilliant set of purple eyes and he took in the way that his freckles dusted his cheeks in ways that forced Lance’s smile to be replaced with a smirk. 

“Of course, darling. It’s what I’m here for. I saw that fight. You looked like you were in need of some good ol’ TLC.” Why did he say that? What was it with him and flirting with everyone he saw? This was getting to be too much, even for him.

He stood then, offering his hand which was taken by half-gloved hands, singed in the middles. So he hadn’t figured out that he needed to not wear gloves to do his thing. Okay, he could work with that. But he just needed to get him to be okay and get him out of here before  _ he _ came back.

“No thanks.” He got in return, watching the black-haired babe topple out of the tub, face a pale white contrasting the rest of his tanned skin. He was weak, and so Lance once again allowed him to use his shoulder as a rest, leading him out to his couch and letting him plop down.

“I’m Lance, by the way. Are you going to be okay?” He asked, just the slightest hint of concern in his eyes. He was usually pretty okay with strangers in his home, and he kept emphasizing in his mind that this was jeopardizing his safety as much as it was jeopardizing the red warrior’s.

“Keith,” he gave, leaning onto his knees and resting his elbows, forehead pressed into the tips of his fingers. For whatever reason, he looked jet lagged. Could his ability have that type of effect on people? This was really the first time he’d tried it. But he should only be behind by about thirty minutes. “I should be fine after a while.”

So his name was Keith. That was swell. He liked the name and it seemed to fit him, and he trotted to his little kitchenette he had and filled a glass of water, setting it down in front of the other and watched him gulp it down. He was fidgeting. They both were.

“So what all did you see?” He was being questioned, now, and Lance could only laugh. 

“Your butt getting kicked!” But he saw that he actually seemed hurt by that statement, and so he shook his head, trying to keep a playful atmosphere. “I didn’t see much. Just some scary dude hovering over you, so I went up, kicked him where it hurts, and swept the princess right off his feet.” 

That earned him a smile, and Keith cast his eyes down to the near empty cup in his hands, trying to hide the shyness he was feeling in that moment. This whole crime-fighting business was new to him, and he didn’t want anyone to really know how bad he was at it, whether they were like him or not. But judging by the way this guy was -- so cool-headed, light, kind -- he could guess that he hadn’t seen horror like he did.

But of course that wasn’t true. Everyone had their own demons.

“It’s nearly two AM. What were you doing out so late?” Keith blurted, his eyes the size of saucers as he watched Lance toss a hackey-sack up and down in the air, his leg crossed over the other and he felt oddly  _ comfortable  _ in his presence. There was a distant meow, and he avoided the question easily by crossing to the curtained window and pulling it up, allowing the small creature to venture in and rub against his arm, a pretty tabby cat with the brightest and purest blue eyes the other had ever seen.

It was enough to change the topic entirely, as Keith became mesmerized by the sight of it nibbling on it’s kibble on the same windowsill. “Is that yours? It’s… it’s eyes…”

“Feels like it’s looking into your soul, huh?” He asked abruptly, not looking at the battered boy, only running his hand along the spine of the furry creature. He loved this cat to death. “Sometimes I feel like she knows more than I do, about everything. Cats are funny that way. She just started showing up at my window every night. I sort of feed the neighborhood cats, but this one… she keeps making me feel _ things.  _ I can’t explain it.”

They stood in the room, silence bouncing off of every nook and cranny, listening to the softness of his clock tick by slow, steady, the purring of the feline being the only other sound in the whole home.

“Thank you,” he was spoken to once more, and Lance turned to see his guest already half-way out the door, not looking at him. “If we meet again, I’ll be sure to repay you better than my quiet company.”  
  
The door snapped shut, and Lance felt the shrieking in his head, the never ending questions and comments slamming themselves into his brain as he tried to find the words to explain that night. Nothing came to him. He pushed the boy, and the meeting, to the back of his skull.


End file.
